


Teach Me

by waitshewrites



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF, tronnor - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Smut, Tronnor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:26:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6473983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitshewrites/pseuds/waitshewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a misguided player and a timid teacher meeting in Art Class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Me

**Author's Note:**

> In this fiction, Connor is 18 years old, thus above the age of consent. That said, I don't condone Student/Teacher relationships in any context in real life.
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this story to Lauren, one of my best friends. We came up with this idea in JANUARY 2015; I am just an extremely slow writer. Hey, better late than never! I'd also like to thank Angela for being a wonderfully helpful beta!
> 
> Lauren's pen name: onethousandwishes  
> Angela's pen name: xshadesofpurple

“Settle down.” Troye heaved a sigh, “Class, please quiet.” The front of the classroom stilled their rustling and useless chatter, and Troye turned to the board to begin his lesson.

Twenty-three years old, Troye Mellet had been teaching at Crestwater High School for a year and a half, and still had yet to figure out how to hold his students’ attention. Troye was sick of the rowdy, slutty juniors that took Intro to Photography to get out of a musical elective and exhausted of the untalented freshman who only took his Drawing 1 and 2 classes to avoid lunch with the intimidating sea of upperclassman.

Hence when Troye was offered a promotion to teach AP Art Studio to seniors, he gratefully accepted what seemed to be a chance to work with experienced and interested students. No one told the new teacher that the seniors enrolled in art are more likely set on relaxing and partying than studying Monet’s watercolors.

So here he stood with his thirty seven slide, carefully crafted powerpoint, unabashedly ignored by twenty seniors. After the usual ritual of fruitlessly asking for attention and failing to reprimand the distracted, Troye opted to talk over his students. Just as he launched into his lecture, five boys walked in laughing loudly. Ten minutes late into a forty minute class.

“I hope you have a pass.” Troye tried to sound stern as the boys ignored him, making as much noise as possible as they sat down at the table farthest from Troye. “ _Boys_. Your late pass?”

“Pshh. Come on, teach. Don’t be a drag.” Kian Lawley leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk.

Bleach blond hair, untucked graphic tee shirt, ever present varsity jacket, and biceps as big as his ego, Kian was by far Troye’s least favorite student. A leader of sorts of this gang of soccer boys, Kian had suspiciously fantastic tales in everything from partying to girls to soccer. His right hand man, J.C. Caylen, was not much better as he called across the room, “Yeah teach, loosen up.”

Troye hesitated; he really didn’t need the conflict. It was last period and he wanted to go home as much as his students did. If he dared wield his authority, he’d wind up the one punished whilst he babysat the five boys in detention.

“Just give him the pass, guys, who has it?” Ricky spoke up.

In the back of the group, a shorter boy was rustling through his backpack. He seemed frazzled, embarrassed even, as he mumbled to himself. “It’s somewhere I swear… Oh! Here it is.” He reached the front of the class in a few strides and pressed the small yellow paper into Troye’s hand.

For a fleeting instant, delicate warmth brushed past Troye’s fingers, sparking in his nerves and sending a slight shiver through his body. The green eyes stole Troye’s attention as the sweet boy offered a shy smile.

“Sorry," he breathed out, causing Troye's stomach to jump. But before Troye found words, the eighteen year old had scrambled back to his seat.

‘ _Every time_.’ Troye thought with a sigh.

“You just had to ruin the fun, Con.” Kian whined.

“Oh, fuck off man.” Connor’s typical confident demeanor returned rapidly. The crisis avoided, Troye tried to carry on with his lesson.

“No, man you’ve got to come to this party. It’s gonna be a rave.” Kian’s voice carried from the back of the class.

“I don’t know…” Connor sounded unenthusiastic.

“Still tired from your last fuck?” J.C. teased, “Con-the-man gets the girls _and_ the guys.”

Meanwhile, Troye persisted in droning on about color symbolism, desperately trying to focus on anything but the boys in the back.

“Oh my god.” Connor laughed, shaking his head.

Tyler, the varsity star goalie, jumped in, “I dunno, I saw that last guy at Jack’s party, and _I would_.”

“Ha! Who wouldn’t you do Ty?” Connor chimed.

Tyler scoffed, “All I’m saying is hook me up: he’s got to have friends.”

“Haven’t talked to him since actually.”

“Oh? Con-da-bon’s a done-and-run kind of guy. Who would’ve thought?” Kian never missed the opportunity to be vulgar.

When Troye heard that, he choked and burst into a coughing fit. He straightened up to see his students staring at him. “Sorry, I’ve been teaching all day. And- uh- throat’s dry.”

He was met by blank stares reminding him that the students cared as little as he did about the contrasts of the cool and warm tones. With resignation, Troye gave them the last 20 minutes of class to work on their portfolios.

As Troye sat down to grade papers, he realized eyes were watching him steadily. Troye looked up to meet a dazed emerald gaze from across the classroom. Every inch of his being was momentarily paralyzed, fingers frozen reaching for his red grading pen. The crinkles around those eyes and the light behind the gorgeous green gave away hints of a smile that the rest of the young face did not, and Troye couldn’t look away.

“ _Connor?_ Earth to Connor?” J.C. snapped his fingers inches from Connor’s face, effectively breaking their wordless conversation.

“Oh. Sorry, whatcha want?”

“You coming to the party or not?!”

“Guys, we go to a different party every weekend. Don’t you just want to hang out for once?”

“Ohhh, he doesn’t know who’s going to be there.” Kian smiled wickedly.

J.C. elbowed Kian and smirked, joining in on whatever Connor was clearly missing.

“Just tell me.” Connor said, before turning to Tyler, “I know you know.”

“ _Bethany’s_ going to be there.” Kian dragged out her name and leaned forward to slap Connor on the back. “You know, the good little girl who watches you in Physics.”

“Why don’t you show her some physics of your own?” J.C. laughed.

“Dude.” Kian high fived him and Connor shook his head at his friend, apparently amused.  

“She’s definitely hot…”  Connor could give him that, “But I like her… And she’s so nice. I don’t know Kian.”

Kian leaned forward again to sit up, he slung his arm around Connor’s shoulders, and swept his free arm through the air like he was revealing a spectacular vision to Connor alone. “Connor, my man. Good girls are the world’s finest untapped resource for a good time. She’d be practically begging you if you got her alone. Nail her already.”

“Don’t be crude, Kian.” Connor muttered.

Troye smiled to himself at that comment, fighting to ignore the blood rushing in his ears as he watched the conversation progress from behind the stack of papers he was supposed to be reading.

“Whatever, man. All I’m saying is this party is at Mamrie’s and you know what that looked like last time. If Beth is there, she’s coming expecting something. I even talked her up for you.”

“You what?!” The bewilderment was evident in Connor’s voice.

“I know, you can thank me later. Besides, the party’s in two days. You gotta start acting on her leads.”

The bell rang, and with that the exchange was over. As usual, Kian seemed to have won, but Troye couldn’t have been more grateful when his classroom had emptied out. Slumping back in his chair, Troye realized with horror that he was still breathing heavily. He shouldn’t care this much, it was unprofessional and none of his business, and yet he couldn’t help himself.

*******

When ninth period rolled around the following day, Troye hadn’t figured out how to manage the gnawing at his stomach that took over when he thought of the beautiful brunette student that was Connor Franta.

The only thing he knew was that it was Friday, so all he had to do was survive one forty minute period and then he had the rest of the weekend to clear his head.

Troye collected his notes, preparing to resume yesterday’s lecture, when he noticed the gang of soccer jocks were actually present… except Connor.

Troye regretted to feel a slight twinge of disappointment upon this news. He tried to shake it off as he crossed the room to close the class room door and start class. Troye squared his shoulders more with every moment, determined to be professional this period. After all, it should be easier without Connor.

Yet when Troye got to the door, the pairing he saw not five feet from the door made his heart drop into his stomach.

Bethany’s lips were latched onto Connor’s as she kissed him heavily in a sloppy, open mouthed kiss. Her arms were wrapped around his neck as she leaned into him. Connor, on the other hand, stood surprisingly straight and unswayed by her body. Bethany practically grinded into the boy, as he kept her standing with two firm hands on her waist and kissed back in a much gentler manner.

The two seemed to have much different agendas, and it wasn’t cohesive to say the least. When Bethany pulled away, her giggle was so rushed and high pitched that she sounded drunk, meanwhile Connor didn’t crack a smile.

Troye’s mind raced, knowing that any other teacher would have broken the pair apart by now, but Troye wasn’t exactly an intimidating teacher. He couldn’t bring himself to interrupt this, as much as he wanted to. Instead, he awkwardly closed the door as loudly as he could, hoping the two would get the hint.

Sure enough, moments later a disheveled Connor tried to sneak into the room. The second the soccer jocks noticed him, the room was filled with whoops and claps, applauding Connor for the show he’d put on in the hallway. Clearly, the little make out scene had been much more visible from the students’ position.

Connor took his seat next to Kian, but not before taking a grandiose bow and laughing at the comments on what a “player” he was.

“You’re late.” Troye’s voice came out stone cold, surprising even himself.

The smile vanished from Connor’s face. “Sorry,” he muttered quietly, taking out his sketch book.

For the first time since Troye had started teaching at Crestwater High, his entire classroom was silent. If it had been any of the other soccer boys, there would have been distasteful comebacks with an utter disrespect of authority, yet Connor had apologized. The unthinkable had happened and he’d listened to Troye. Troye's class now held their breath, phones forgotten, waiting to see who would seize power.

Troye steeled himself to speak authoritatively. “In fact, you ALL need to start taking this class more seriously. More than half of you are missing assignments for the portfolio due on Monday- yes _in three days_. I need not remind you that you need this elective to graduate next month.”

With this unexpected momentum, Troye brashly turned and spoke directly to Connor “ _You_ have seven late assignments. I’ll talk to you after class.”

With a boyish smirk and the edge of a laugh, Connor barely conceded “Pfft. Yeah, whatever.” With that the spell was broken. The dam crashed and the students’ chatter cascaded throughout the classroom like an unstoppable waterfall once again.

Only when he sat down did Troye realize his mistake. He could hardly handle Connor’s gaze when diluted by the presence of twenty four other students; Troye would let that delinquent steal the world if he was alone with him.

*******

When the bell rang, Connor unceremoniously left his things all around his table, and made his way to the teacher’s desk. He haphazardly grabbed the nearest chair, swinging it around so that he could sit on it backwards, arms draped across the back of the chair, legs open around the chair’s base. His friends skipped their usual beeline for the door, to detour and one by one slap Connor on the back or ruffle his hair. As Kian stepped out of the doorway, Troye swore he heard “Give him hell!”

During all the mockery, Connor watched Troye steadily with that unnerving grin of his. All respectful pretenses from the start of class gone, Connor made it clear he was not afraid of Troye.

“You’re missing _seven_ late assignments, Connor.” Troye started, without even giving Connor a chance to charm him. “You need to start taking this class more seriously.”

Connor didn’t say anything, no excuses or sweet talking. Instead, he raked his eyes over Troye’s form slowly, all the while smiling in a subtle but definitively devious way. Strange how Troye felt so exposed yet desired at the same time.

“D-do you have anything to say for yourself?” Troye placed both hands on his desks, leaning forward, attempting to intimidate. Connor bit his lip and raised his eyes to meet Troye’s evenly.

“ _So_ sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. The whole portfolio is due Monday and how do you expect to have everything to me in time?”

Connor’s mischievous demeanor felt like he knew something Troye didn’t. “Perhaps I can make it up to you?” Connor dragged his words, saying so much and yet almost nothing at all. Then that dangerous smile returned. “Do some _extra_ _credit_ maybe? _Sir_?”

The tips of Troye’s ears tinged pink as his eyes positively bulged. Surely Connor didn’t have the audacity to suggest what he thought he was saying. Troye took an abrupt step away from his desk, desperately trying to compose himself. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the responsible reply.

He realized two could play at that game- well not _that_ game.

“Fine. You want extra credit. I could always give you extra makeup work. Essays. Readings. I could have you working for days. It’s that or detention.”

“Oooo _detention_.” Connor lifted an eyebrow. Everything sounded like a come-on with the feigned innocence seeping through Connor’s voice. Troye stared at him blankly. This was both everything and nothing he wanted. Running his fingers through his mess of curls, Troye heaved a heavy sigh. Gingerly, he sat down, ready to resign completely from disciplining this idiot.

“You know, I’m sort of disappointed in you.” Troye spoke quietly, looking at the papers on his desk instead of Connor. “I just- I know your friends couldn’t care less about this class- or art at all for that matter- but I really thought you had promise.”

Troye glanced up to see Connor’s brow furrowed, his mouth parted as if he had tried to respond but the words were caught in his throat. After a few moments of evident contemplation and struggling, Connor’s voice rose louder than he must’ve intended. “You thought I had promise?”

Troye was dumbfounded. _That_ was what the boy focused on- after bluntly offering “favors” for grades. “Well yeah. I saw your acrylic series from last semester and your photography from last year. They were really something Connor. I thought I was guaranteed at least one student who would _care_.”

“Define ‘something’ Mr. Mellet.” The boyish grin from before was plastered on Connor’s face, except this time it felt more genuine.

Troye laughed, shaking his head. “ _You’re_ really something, Connor.”

“Okay let’s go back to the part when you said I had promise.”

Connor stood up to turn his chair around, sitting properly across from Troye finally. With earnest, he admitted that art had been one of his favorite classes and the two fell into natural conversation.

This was weird, Troye mused, and unexpected, yet this was the side of Connor he’d thought he’d glimpsed from time to time.

Within the next fifteen minutes, they’d reached an agreement. Connor wouldn’t be penalized for the late assignments if he had them all on Troye’s desk in one week’s time, provided he stay after school every day to prove he was working on them.

Neither seemed to mind the prospect of spending extra time after school.

*******

“Heyyy! There he is. We thought you’d died!” Tyler exclaimed when Connor walked into the art room on Monday, dragging his feet, hunched over slightly.

“Seriously man, what the hell.” Kian said, annoyance seeping into his voice, “You totally bailed on us Saturday.”

“Ya girl was at the party looking fine and you weren’t even there to see,” J.C. piped up. “I think she got with Joe. You missed your chance.”

Connor sluggishly dropped his bag to the ground and plopped into his usual seat by Tyler and Ricky. “Joe can have her.” Connor breathed out. “I bet she’s lame in bed anyways.”

“After all I went through to set you two up!” Kian huffed, “You’re running through girls like they’re an endless supply, Con. Pretty soon there’ll be no fresh meat in this town.”

“I was busy okay. Like sorry, but things come up.” Connor retorted.

“You’ve definitely looked better…” Ricky eyed Connor, stepping in to end the abuse.

The boy looked smaller than ever in his oversized sweatshirt, hair down and wavy, as he huddled around a coffee mug. His face a pale green tint and his eyes sporting unusual bags, Connor clearly hadn’t slept. To Troye, however, he looked nothing but cuddly and needing care.

Ricky leant in, lowering his voice to speak solely to Connor. Troye just caught the words “okay,” “fighting,” and “again,” all of which carried a surprising tone of concern and questioning.

Connor shook his head, refusing to look up and meet Ricky’s eyes. Connor’s devil-may-care words didn’t match his meek voice today. “Leave it be. I’m fine.”

*******

Once the rest of the class had left, Connor approached Troye’s desk. He threw down an oil painting, two charcoal sketches, and one pointillism drawing. “Here. I worked all weekend on them.”

Troye was taken aback. “Oh Connor, that wasn’t part of the deal. You didn’t have to give up your weekend.” At Troye’s unexpected kindness, Connor visibly softened.

“I know… I just needed a break. It was kind of nice.”

“These are really stunning.” Troye held the oil painting at arm’s length to get a better look at it.

Connor smiled at his feet, “Oh um, thanks.” He scratched his neck sheepishly. “I’ll just go work on late assignment number five then.”

“Okay.” Troye nodded.

Connor sat in the front – far from his usual seat- and began to pull out his tools and paper for a realism pencil sketch. Only the top of his hazelnut head could be seen as he concentrated on furiously sketching, leaving Troye to muse over why getting ahead on these assignments had now become so important to the party boy.

*******

After Monday, Connor gradually allowed himself to warm up to Troye. It started with Connor asking which hue of blue to use. The way he listened intently to Troye’s input, without cutting off the involved explanation, was new to Troye.

On Tuesday, Troye came back with two coffees from the teacher’s lounge when they’d decided to stay past four to continue working. The boy who looked smaller every day accepted with a slight smile and a comment that he too liked coffee without sugar.

By Wednesday, Connor no longer disrupted his class. Instead, he diligently worked on his art while maintaining the expected cheap chatter with his group.

After school that day, the two even had some real conversations. Troye didn’t know how he had got there, but somewhere between a thought out question and a ridiculous art joke, red grading pens and watercolors were forgotten as laughter filled the room.

Troye learned that Connor had aspirations outside of playing soccer. He actually really enjoyed photography and had been accepted to a number of impressive art schools, but dismissed the feats because he didn’t believe he had a future in the field. Troye was quick to disprove those unfounded fears.

Once Troye got Connor going on the topic of perspectives in photography, neither could stop. Connor was absolutely adorable, talking a mile a minute about how he thought he saw the world “a little differently”, zooming in on what looked like ordinary plants or buildings. He waited for Troye to roll his eyes, but Troye was too busy noticing how he talked with his hands and how his smile always reached his eyes.

Passion had never looked so pretty.

On Thursday, Troye found himself asking students and colleagues to repeat their questions twice, even three times, because he was entirely preoccupied with thoughts of after school. Actually, it had become an issue for Troye to drift off from conversations, utterly consumed with thoughts of a brilliant smile, thin cherry lips, caramel tufts of hair, and rich jade eyes. He tried to cut them off and keep his qualms, he really did, but this boy was ethereal and inescapable.

*******

Against all his moral warnings and personal chastising, Troye was undeniably drawn to Connor. Everything with Connor was wonderful, seamless, and honest. Each moment was a whirlwind of impulsive emotion that he couldn’t convince himself to regret.

So when Connor needed sculpting help that Thursday afternoon at 5:30, Troye didn’t say it was time they head home or that teachers can’t show favoritism. Instead he found himself, sharing a bench in front of the pottery table, with his thigh alarmingly close to Connor’s. His heart quivering, Troye struggled to keep his hands steady and ignore the ever-present warm body beside him.

Troye smoothed the bodice of the clay dancer with his finger tips. Connor watched closely, scarcely breathing as Troye elegantly pressed sweeping lines to mold her form. He was mesmerized by the effortless grace of Troye’s hands, yet hyper aware of the way their shoulders clashed together.

“How do you do that?” Connor murmured in awe before he thought better of it.

Troye made the mistake of turning his head to address Connor, and suddenly he was so close. Their noses were practically touching as they breathed the same air, and neither backed away.

Matching Connor’s small volume though they were alone, Troye began “You have to use deliberate yet firm touches.” He moved his hands down to the flowy bottom of the dancer’s dress, sculpting waves that perfectly displayed movement. As Connor’s hand tried to replicate his motions, Troye covered Connor’s hand with his own and guided it down the sculpture. “Envision what you want and just try. You can’t second guess yourself.”

Troye removed his hand from Connor’s, already missing his electric warmth. Troye felt eyes on him and once more made the mistake of shifting to face Connor. Sparkling eyes looked _through_ Troye, as dry cherry lips parted, his face full of wonderment.

Troye continued in a hushed tone that somehow felt appropriate, “Every artist knows what he wants, it’s just a matter of how fearless you can be.”

Connor’s face broke into a smug smile with that annoying quirk of an eyebrow, “Sir, you’re not talking about art anymore.”

“I am.”

Neither knew who lurched forward first, but the two starstruck artists closed the last few inches to meet in an intoxicating kiss that gripped their hearts. Their first kiss was spontaneous but fiery. They sunk into it as soon as they registered what was happening, which was hard to comprehend with minds spinning and hearts pounding.

It was a small and short kiss. Troye broke it off with the intention of apologizing, insisting this could never happen again. But when he opened his eyes to see a dazed Connor beginning to smile, his stomach jumped again.

Without allowing another second to pass, Connor reconnected their lips. Troye sighed into the kiss, raising one hand to cup Connor’s jaw. Their pace was unrushed and savoring, yet lined with the excitement of an unfamiliar spark.

Connor had one hand moving up Troye’s thigh and one hand clutching his upper arm. Troye could feel Connor’s every light touch and soft breath, yet his thoughts were so clouded that he could only register feeling alive.

Even with his eyes closed, Troye could feel the happy crinkle of Connor’s eyes as he stopped to blush and laugh shyly against Troye’s lips. Troye couldn’t help but revel in a simple truth: there was no better taste than Connor’s laughter in his mouth.

*******

Friday was the last day of their agreed extension, and to both of their disappointment, Connor’s projects were well executed and ready to be turned in fifteen minutes into class on Friday afternoon.

Nonetheless, there they were at four o’clock, still in Troye’s classroom. Troye didn’t object when Connor insisted on redoing the already perfected arm of the dancer sculpture, he pretended not to notice when Connor stood at the sink for an excessively long time washing the tools, and he said nothing about the deadline as he and Connor took a break to chat for twenty minutes. No amount of Connor dragging his feet, however, could stop the sad reality that his portfolio was finished. On Monday, he would go back to being another one of Troye’s irritating, uninspired students.

Connor returned his papers to his folders, placed the sculpture on the drying rack, and cleared his space one last time. The room was quiet, every ounce of residual electricity bogged down by the melancholy.

Connor shouldered on his backpack and headed for the door. His hand was on the doorknob before he thought better of it.

He stood in front of Troye’s desk with each hand hooked on a backpack strap. “Sir… Uh, I’d like to thank you. Ya know, for the opportunity to make up the work, and for the coffee, and for… everything.”

Troye smiled, a twinge of somber longing in his eyes, “No problem, you really showed you deserved it. It was nice to get to know you, Connor.”

“My friends call me Con.” Connor’s boyish charm returned to his face a little.

Once again proving Connor was the exception, Troye let slip, “My friends call me Troye.”

Connor practically radiated, “I’m going to miss you, Troye. And uh, let me know if there’s ever any other extra credit I can do for you.” This time the words were neither undermining nor provoking, but rather an inside joke between admirers.

Troye watched him go, already feeling colder at the idea of Connor leaving. Troye had never been a hopeless romantic, yet even he knew when two people really clicked. As his chest filled with dread, Troye realized he couldn’t let Connor be the one that got away.

Abruptly, Troye stood up from his desk, racing towards the door and down the hall, moving faster than he had in a long time. “Connor!” He called out, forgetting where he was entirely.

Luckily, there was only one boy in the hallway, a very cute one with lips that were soft to kiss and a mind that was amazing to know. He turned around with a knowing and relieved beam.

“I… um, I have papers that need filing, if you’re interested.” Troye added hastily, “I can do it myself at home tomorrow if you can’t though.”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do with my Saturday night,” he teased. “And if it’s fine with you, I don’t mind coming over. I already spend far too much time in this school building.”

“Yeah sure. Great.” Troye said on an exhale, still breathing a bit too heavy for that mild sprint.

As Troye turned away, he swore he heard a melodic voice reply, “It’s a date.”

*******

The next day, Troye sat on his sofa working over a long coffee table. His living room had just been straightened up and vacuumed for no reason in particular, definitely not the same reason his leg was shaking and he couldn’t focus on the paper in front of him.

Every few minutes, Troye would glance at his phone, nervousness bubbling inside of him. Any minute now, he’d receive a text that this was all some practical joke and _of course_ Connor had better things to do on a Saturday night.

Yet most of his anxiety was forgotten when Connor punctually knocked at the door at five p.m.

“Hey,” Troye grinned.

“Hi.” Connor waved, despite the fact Troye was right there. He stepped inside, removing his shoes and looking around at Troye’s humble living room. He wandered over to the papers Troye had sprawled across the coffee table, “Guess we should start filing then.”

“Y- yeah,” Troye responded, unsure of what to do and where to sit. It wasn’t a very big couch. Connor didn’t have such stresses, rather he was quite fine sliding in next to Troye, even letting their knees touch when they didn’t have to.

Seemingly oblivious to Troye’s ginger movements, Connor rifled through the art projects and reports.

“Aha!” Connor eagerly picked up one of his own, searching for the grade. “So I got an A after all!” He began to pore over Troye’s nice comments, eyes flitting between Troye and the page.

Troye’s cheeks burned and he gave Connor a small shove, “It was a well written analysis, okay.”

“Okay…” Connor trailed off teasingly.

Chuckling, Troye rolled his eyes playfully. “Okay, what?”

“Nothin’. I was just wondering if this made me your favorite student.”

“Sure.” Troye complied with another laugh, “You’re my favorite student.”

Connor perked up, his gleeful expression now devoid of any joking manner. “Good because you’re my favorite person.”

Connor’s hand was now on Troye’s knee, distracting him and making it harder to maintain the back-and-forth.  “Not your favorite teacher?”

“Oh that too.” Troye could feel his every movement as they were practically on top of each other now, pulled into the center by the sagging couch cushion. “You’ve taught me so much.” Troye’s eyes flickered between his enticing lips and his enchanting eyes, Connor continued, “I wonder if there’s anything else you can teach me.”

Finally, they were kissing once again. The pace, which had promised to be tender, was actually voracious and full of need. Hands were in their hair and exploring their sides. They were instantly swept away by each other once again; everything was hot and impassioned and real.

When Troye fell roughly back against the couch’s arm, Connor stopped to speak. Still breathing deeply, he suggested they move somewhere more comfortable- or he tried to. He was cut off by another kiss.

They moved to Troye's bedroom as one, never detaching their lips from one another. Connor kissed with fervid determination, one hand gripping the back of Troye's neck and the other wrapped around Troye's waist in an effort to hold himself up. Lost in the heat of Connor's embrace, Troye forgot that he was the one guiding them. With a thud, Troye hit the hallway wall.

Connor pulled back, lips swollen, hair mussed, he looked like a beautiful fantasy. Then a smirk spread across those wickedly tantalizing lips when Connor realized who he had caged against the wall.

Dipping his head down, Connor mouthed at Troye's neck searching for the spot that would make Troye -

 _Groan_.

Troye's brow furrowed as his eyes scrunched shut in pleasure; he threw his head back against the wall, exposing his neck even further. Connor moved up to nip at the juncture where Troye's neck became his jaw, his lips feeling the strong clench of Troye's jaw as he swallowed.

However, the second Connor moved back a fraction to breathe, Troye grabbed his waist and flipped them around. Within an instant, Troye's lips were back on Connor's, yet this time Troye was clearly gaining dominance. Troye wasted no time deepening the kiss, the hand still around Connor pulling him ever closer.

Connor reached up to weave a hand through the back of Troye's curly hair, pulling lightly.

Troye's head was spinning in this frenzied delirium. His tongue slipped past Connor's lips, and Connor let out a small muffled moan. Troye's heart swelled and his pants stirred- he _needed_ to hear that sound again.

Cautiously, Troye shifted his hips forward to grind lightly against Connor. Immediately, Connor responded, jutting his hips out and increasing the intensity of Troye's motions. Connor surprised both of them when his hand crept down to Troye’s ass, squeezing roughly as he pressed Troye flush against him.

For far too long, one of Troye’s hands had been clutching Connor's hip bone, digging his nails in and holding Connor steady. Now, however, he moved to skim his long fingers under Connor's t-shirt; a shiver ran up Connor's spine at the cool touch of fingers against the hot skin of his abdomen. Troye toyed with the hem of the shirt before decisively grabbing the edge and breaking off the kiss to pull it off.

' _Finally._ ' Troye couldn't help but relish as he got Connor's shirt off. He traversed his hands up Connor's sides, coming up and around to settle sweetly on his toned shoulder blades.

Troye hovered inches from Connor's lips before speaking, "I could just take you here, in the middle of the hallway, up against the wall." Troye pecked Connor's lips quickly, yet even those short few seconds contained the deep reverence Troye held for the wonderful boy in his arms. "I could make you feel so good. So good you would forget all those before me."

At even the thought of someone else kissing Connor, envy surged through Troye's coursing bloodstream and sickened his core.

Troye lurched forward to capture Connor's lips in another urgent kiss, determined to wipe Connor’s memory of anyone before him, to induce such blissful oblivion that Connor’s mind is filled with Troye and Troye only. Yet Connor barely reciprocated the kiss, Troye realized, slowing his movements. He broke away and gently pressed his lips to edge of Connor's mouth.

"You okay?" He murmured, arms still comfortingly around Connor's shoulders.

"Yeah," Connor laughed breathily.

"I'll stop if it's too much. Are you sure you're okay?" Troye pulled back to look Connor in the eye, knowing he would never forgive himself if he did anything to harm this precious being.  

A blush had crept up Connor's neck and he smiled, embarrassed as he broke eye contact with the crystalline blue eyes that made him melt.

"I don't see why you would know this... Or why I should tell you..." Connor spoke in a hushed tone, his stare fixated on the floor beyond Troye's right shoulder.

Troye didn't dare speak, afraid of scaring Connor off from continuing. Troye raised one gentle hand to comb through the fluffy, messed up fringe on Connor's damp forehead, restraining himself from placing a kiss on Connor's temple.

"But I'm not really the player everyone thinks I am... I mean, I've done some stuff but..." Connor was positively flustered now. He glanced up belatedly to search Troye's face, hoping he'd caught on.

"Connor?" Troye focused all of his effort into conveying tenderness into that one delicate name. "Are you a virgin?"

Connor nodded ever so slightly, cracking a little smile despite himself. “But I still want to…”

Troye’s eyes widened. He tried to hastily process Connor’s demeanor and figure out the safest next move.

“Troye.” Connor’s voice came out much clearer, demanding attention. “I want this. I want you.”

A heavenly warmth spread in Troye’s chest along with a renewed craving to kiss the boy in his arms. He began to lean in- before stopping himself.

But it was too late. Connor had caught the slight movement and acute flutter of his eyelids. A vindictive gleam hit Connor’s eyes.

“ _Troye_.” Connor bit his lip dangerously, “I need you. Now.” Connor’s ruthless hand grabbed Troye’s ass and he arched off the wall to grind against Troye mercilessly, to prove how much he needed him. Troye’s head fell forward against Connor’s forehead.

His hot breath hitting Connor’s cheek, “Connor Franta, you’re going to be the death of me.”

One last time, Troye tore himself away from Connor, but before Connor could falter, he extended his hand. Troye said, “Bedroom, babe?”

Connor took his hand, beaming at the nickname, and allowed himself to be steered down the hallway.

Troye's bedroom was rather bare, just some oak cabinets, a plush chair with sweaters piled on top, and a full sized bed with a fluffy white comforter. It was all simple and plain, yet inviting. When the door had closed behind them, Connor turned into Troye to resume their kiss.

Yet Troye denied him, wrapping his arms around Connor and backing them up towards the bed.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Troye raised one hand to brush the pad of his thumb against Connor's cheek. The following kiss swept Connor off his feet, the insatiable longing shared between the two of them urging them on.

As one, they sunk into the bed slowly. The air had changed drastically, Troye maintaining a slow, attendant kiss as he tugged down the zipper of Connor’s jeans. Troye’s fingers hooked on the waistband and he gently tugged the pants off, groping Connor’s ass on the way.

“Move back.” Troye whispered.

Connor shifted back, settling against the pillows, his head against the headboard. Troye moved forward, kneeling between Connor’s legs, but he maintained the unrushed air, pressing light kisses to Connor’s jaw. His hands explored Connor’s chest, one finger tracing over his nipple and tweaking slightly.

Connor moaned softly, reaching up to tug on Troye’s hair and bucking up into the air to speed along the progression.

“You’re so beautiful.” Troye sounded hungered but amazed. Connor didn’t think he had ever heard someone talk to him with so much wonder in their voice. Troye’s thumb glided over one of the birthmarks on Connor’s chest, and he noticed the way they formed a constellation of sorts.

Taking his time, Troye sealed his lips over the little brown mark, not hard enough to leave a bruise. He made his way across and down Connor’s chest, kissing each one, trailing his tongue hotly.

Troye’s restrained pace was the ultimate tease, stimulating Connor so much, yet not enough at all. Connor’s eyes were clenched shut; he had one fistful of Troye’s curls and one fistful of the bed sheets. His breathing stuttered as he tried to speak, “T- Troye. M- more.”

Suddenly, Troye’s warm presence was gone. Connor’s eyes shot open. Troye had sat back on his legs, stripping his shirt off. Mouth agape, Connor shamelessly admired the flawless landscape composed of Troye’s biceps, shoulders, and torso.

“Give me one second, and I can give you so. Much. More.” Troye’s husky voice sent another wave of arousal through Connor.

He then rose to retrieve lube and condoms from the bedside cabinet and set them on the edge of the bed. “You’re sure?” Troye asked Connor when he saw how the younger one eyed the new objects. From the clarity of distance, Connor knew this was what he wanted.

With absolute resolve, he looked into the blue pools of eyes. “Yes.” Connor gently smiled at him. “Take those off.” With hesitation, Troye obliged and stepped out of his pants. “Come here.” Connor took Troye’s hand pulling him onto the bed to settle on top of Connor. When Troye’s face was hovering above Connor’s, he made enthralling eye contact, “Now fuck me.”

Throwing all final reservations away, Troye kissed Connor like he’d wanted to for weeks with intensity that dripped of desire.

 _“T_ _roye_.” Connor moaned into the rough kiss, before Troye broke it off far too soon. Troye kissed down Connor’s neck whilst Connor’s hands gripped fists of the white bed sheets.

More whines tumbled from Connor’s mouth as he threw his head back against his pillow and shut his eyes, lost in the tremendous frustration. Troye’s free hand traced down Connor’s side to play with the waist band of Connor’s boxers, the only article of clothing Connor still had on. Troye reached further below the belt and pressed the heel of his hand down.

“ _Troye. Please._ ” Connor pleaded as he thrust upwards and at last found friction. Troye sat up and pushed Connor’s hips down into the mattress with both hands. Troye straddled him, met his eyes with a glint, and grinded down against Connor. Picking up speed, Troye’s movements became harsher; the pleasure evident in the shallow breathing that filled the room as they continue this fractured rhythm.  

Troye leaned forward, bracing himself with his arms on either side of Connor’s head.  As he somehow increased the friction, Troye began to bite and kiss Connor’s neck. His senses were overloading, boiling heat coursing through Connor as his blood pounded in his ears.

Reaching below the elastic, Troye took Connor’s leaking hardness in his hand, stroking a few times and thumbing over his slit. Overwhelmed, Connor reached for Troye’s boxers to distract himself from coming too soon. His head a steamy haze, Connor resorted to sloppily tugging at them. Troye ended up having to help, removing his hand from inside Connor’s boxers and kicking his feet a little to get them off all the way.

Connor laughed quietly, before moving his hands to take off his own underwear. When they were both undressed, they stopped- for only a beat- to earnestly take in each other’s beauty.

The feeling of skin against skin burned like exhilarating ecstasy, as Troye lied down between Connor’s thighs. Their cocks fit snugly against each other, every movement threatening completion to Troye.

His hand reached around for the lube, and Troye made sure to warm it before tracing one finger around Connor’s tight ring. He watched Connor’s face closely as he pushed one finger in. Connor didn’t make a noise, unable to keep his eyes open.

Troye shallowly thrust his finger, curling upwards in search of Connor’s prostate. Troye peppered Connor’s face with feathery kisses as a barely audible mewl escaped the younger’s lips. Troye added a second finger, stretching and scissoring.

A deep guttural groan was torn from Connor as Troye curled his fingers again, signaling Troye had found the bundle of nerves that made Connor see stars. Connor looked absolutely ravished between his hair tossed every which way and his rosy cheeks and torso.  Troye smiled in satisfaction, seeing the visible effect he had induced.

When Connor began bearing down on his fingers, Troye knew he was ready. Troye removed his fingers, feeling a pang of sympathy as Connor involuntarily winced at the loss. He rolled on the condom, shuddering when he touched himself.

Troye moved down, lining himself up with both hands on Connor’s hip bones before pushing in carefully. When he bottomed out, it took every bit of energy Troye had left to resist bucking into the tight heat around him.

“Connor.” The two stilled as Connor’s eyes slowly opened and found Troye’s. In mere seconds, the lust drained from Troye’s features as concern and care flooded his eyes and relaxed his scrunched forehead. Connor sighed peacefully, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Barely above a whisper, Troye spoke, “I’ve got you.”

Troye leaned forward and caught Connor in a deep but steady kiss. As Connor focused all his efforts on kissing back, his heart pounded. Troye started to find his rhythm, picking up the pace as one hand found Connor’s on the pillow, intertwining their fingers, and one hand reached down to pump Connor in consistent tugs.

Connor clenched around Troye to spur him on, needing Troye to be harsher. Troye’s shallow thrusts soon accelerated. He lost himself in this vibrant pleasure, his eyes rolling back in his head as he found a rhythm. Connor hitched his heels around Troye’s lower back, allowing him to access deeper angles.

Connor’s moans had turned to incoherent babbles. This newfound feeling of fullness blurred the lines of where Troye started and Connor ended. Yet he held Troye impossibly closer.

Soon Troye was pounding into Connor, his moans matching Connor’s in ferocity and volume. He didn’t think he could maintain this control much longer when Connor keened, “T- Troye. I’m so close.”

Troye twisted his hand holding Connor’s length one last time.  “Let go.” Troye’s voice was gravelly yet comforting. “ _I’ve got you_.”

Connor came over their chests, his entire body shaking with release. His short gasps and quiet moan of “ _Troye_ ” pushed Troye over the edge as well. With one more ragged thrust, Troye followed him, crying out his name in response. Warmth spread to every exhausted extremity, satisfaction filling their cores.

Troye pulled out and hovered above Connor, catching his breath and studying the sweet face through long lashes. He didn’t realize he was biting his lip until he felt the pad of Connor’s thumb running over it. The younger’s eyes held such life and he broke into that special, gentle smile, one few people were privileged enough to bask in.

Exhausted, Connor lifted his head just enough to meet Troye’s lips. The kiss was fluid and easy. They finished with a string of a few too many pecks on the lips, as if every time they broke away, they were drawn back to each other.

Troye pulled a few tissues from his nightstand to wipe Connor’s chest down. He tied the condom and begrudgingly stood up to throw out everything. When he returned to bed, Connor was under the covers, still looking very blissed out. Troye crawled underneath to join him, his heart swelling as Connor cuddled into his side.

“Thank you.” Connor sighed peacefully.

“No, oh my god, thank _you_ babe.” Troye mumbled, leaving a lingering kiss on Connor’s cheek. “There’s no chance you can stay here tonight?” Troye asked hopefully. He told himself that Connor shouldn’t be alone after his first time, but he knew that wasn’t the full reason as he indulged in the exquisite sight beside him.

Connor glowed at the invitation, “Yeah I think I can swing that.” Connor snuggled deeper into the white comforter, pulling Troye against him and relaxing in Troye’s arms.


End file.
